In the afternoon light
he strode along the grassy ridge
above idling buses poised to
take us home.
Long hair, white clothes
and a miniature guitar that
only made him look bigger
like a god--
an amplifier strapped to his belt
shot sound out to us mortals
a siren song
a rallying cry
and girls I'd often dreamed of
let out a collective gasp
raining down along with his notes
on the seeds of a plan
I'd just sown.
3 comments:
Plan?
You know, start playing guitar, overcome my shyness, attract girls. Remember that this poem is a flashback to me at 14. The plan worked out so-so, but it's been a gratifying journey. (Note the lower-case "j.")
Ahh! Got it! My captcha word is: diphip. Apt.
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